Battlefield

• Ryan Dickenson, Grade 6
• Poetry
• 2016

I crawl out of the trench, under heavy fire,
Trying not to trip, over the rusty barbed wire.
Bullets whiz past, my dirty scratched head,
As I leap over the ones, who have sadly fallen dead.
A bullet zooms fast, straight through my chest,
Blood seeps through the hole, in my dirty rotten breast.
I shut my eyes, trying to endure the pain,
As the dirty clouds of dust, fall like the rain.
My time is up, I died with dignity,
My last hope, Is that they won't forget me.